Four AM
by TheConsultantSociopath
Summary: He was tormented by the feelings that overcame him in this one hour of the day when he could not just push things away. His mind palace shrunk to just one room, One exceptionally tiny room that he otherwise kept locked quite tightly. Four A.M. The Hour of WANT.


Four A.M.

Quattuor Ante Meridiem.

How Sherlock truly despised this hour. If he was awake, and typically he was, Sherlock had to suffer through this hour in the night with no respite. There was no logical for reason for his mind and body to respond as it did when the clock struck 4. It had been happening since he was a teenager, but had gotten frighteningly more frequent since John had come into his life. Why did he have to feel so…

Human.

He could be doing anything at all and it was as if his body and mind did not care what the circumstances were, whether or not Sherlock knew what time it was, where in the world he was. It just… didn't care. He was tormented by the _feelings_ that overcame him in this one hour of the day when he could not just push things away. His mind palace shrunk to just one room, One exceptionally tiny room that he otherwise kept locked quite tightly.

Four A.M.

The Hour of **WANT.**

Tonight, by 4:05 Sherlock was pacing the floor of his room frantically. Yesterday afternoon, they had solved a case they had been pursuing for a good two weeks. Neither of them had slept well for the entirety and on the cab ride home from the Yard, John had fallen asleep beside him on the seat. Slowly but surely as they took turns and stopped at crossings, John's body had slid closer and closer to Sherlock. Soon enough, John's head was resting on Sherlock's shoulder and Sherlock had not known what to do. So he had stayed stock still, allowing John his rest.

The problem with this situation was over the last last few months Sherlock had been noticing things about John that he didn't, as a rule, notice about anyone. The way his eyes lit up when he smiled, the gait he had when he was proud of them for having solved a case, the deep blue of his eyes when he was amazed by something that he, Sherlock, had done. While he supposed he had noticed these things before, perhaps he had never _felt_ the way he did now about these observations. It made him uncomfortable. And so, with Dr. John Watson so close to him, Sherlock had no choice but to observe more disconcerting things about his doctor. Particularly disturbing was the pleasantness of how John _smelled._ Sherlock could smell his aftershave and deoderant of course, but under that was a type of musk that made Sherlock want to lean in and press his nose to John's hair just to inhale the intoxicating aroma. Thankfully, the cab had arrived then, stopping so suddenly it had jerked John forward off of Sherlock's shoulder, saving him the trouble of explaining. They had gone up to the flat, John going straight to bed and Sherlock beginning on his newest experiment.

He had been doing an exceptional job of ignoring the new facts about his flatmate until bloody 4 A.M. Now, he was pacing his floor trying to think of anything but John, and failing miserably. Sherlock knew somewhere in the back of his mind that tonight was the night he would have to break down and do something about his urges. As he admitted this to himself, a flash of a scenario went through his mind of him stalking into John's room, and waking him up with a sound kiss on those lips he so often paused to observe. Even as this ran across his mind Sherlock was horrified at himself, and made a note that if he did indeed give into his basest human urges, he would do so for the sake of his transport only and would not his mind roam to useless and impossible scenes.

The scene that had played in Sherlock's mind had made his trousers uncomfortably tight, and thus his pacing would have to stop. He walked over to his bed, stripping himself down to his pants and dropped down onto his bed. He threw his arm over his face and made one last valiant attempt to ignore the traitor between his legs that was currently tenting his pants. However, after just a few minutes it was apparent that his little enemy was not, in fact, going to give up, and even as Sherlock slid his pants off he felt a sense of defeat and shame. Neither of these things quelled his half hard and growing member.

Sherlock sighed and leaned to dig around in his bedside drawer for the rarely used bottle of lube that he kept there for such occasions. He spilled a bit out into his hand, setting the bottle beside him and wrapped a slicked hand around his now aching cock, which stood at full attention. The initial contact was like a drink in a drought and for a moment Sherlock lost himself in the sensation. He slowly pumped his hand up and down, simultaneously disgusted with himself and caught up in the delicious friction he was creating. Without his permission his mind conjured the image of John between his legs with that sarcastic mouth on Sherlock's prick. Startled by this, Sherlock froze. He banished that thought from his mind, and then continued to stroke himself. Usually, he could fulfil his need with no thought other than to finish, but tonight it seemed his mind was not going to allow that. Different images of John in different compromising positions flooded his mind and Sherlock finally gave up, succumbing to the inevitable. Thinking of John changed this game more than Sherlock had ever experienced. Soon, he was breathless and groaning wantonly. One particular stroke of his that ended in a flourish of his wrist caused Sherlock to softly cry John's name. Once again, Sherlock froze. Never before had he used someone's name as an expletive during this particular activity. Guiltily, Sherlock decided he had enjoyed it and resumed his focus, now allowing himself to whisper John's name softly.

Sherlock was so close. He could feel the tightening in his stomach and the tightness in his balls. He was so caught up in the moment that he almost missed the nearly silent sound of an additional accelerated breathing pattern coming from his doorway. Sherlock froze for a third time, and his eyes showed shock and shame as they fell on none other than John himself, standing in the doorway, eyes blown wide and open mouthed staring at Sherlock. Sherlock went limp almost immediately as he scrambled to cover himself, looking away from John hurriedly.

"It's not what it appears...ah… experiment… uh." Sherlock could not seem to get his mind to articulate what he was trying to say. His entire face felt hot and he kept his eyes downcast.

"Liar." John said softly. It took a moment for Sherlock to register the tone of John's voice and when he did, he unthinkingly looked up into John's face. What he saw there made him do something he _never_ did. Sherlock Holmes began to doubt his skills of deduction. For, there on John's face was a kind of passion that Sherlock did not think he had ever seen. His blue eyes burned with a fire that instantly set the lowest parts of Sherlock's belly on fire. John's thin pyjamas were severely tented in front, Sherlock deducing the size of him. Realizing where his thoughts had strayed, and feeling his member slowly twitching back to life, Sherlock looked down again, unsure of himself for the first time in a very long while. "You said my name." John spoke again, the deep burning want in his voice recognizable even to Sherlock who so rarely heard such things.

John walked over to Sherlock's bed and sat down on it heavily, staring at Sherlock whose eyes were still trained on his duvet. Without speaking again, John quietly slipped off his pyjamas and layed down next to Sherlock in just his pants.

"But you're not.." Sherlock started but John cut him off.

"Gay." Was all John said before launching himself at Sherlock, catching him off guard. John straddled Sherlock's hips, his face coming impossibly close to the detectives. John looked into his eyes for mere moments before whatever he saw gave him the knowledge he needed to proceed to press his lips to Sherlock's. The consulting detective was frozen at first, not knowing what to do, but he caught on quickly and soon he and John were kissing as if they did it everyday. John was rocking onto Sherlock, and the friction brought Sherlock to full mast once more, and he soon began bucking up against John. Not much longer after that, John pulled away, leaving them both breathing heavily. Sherlock let out a quiet whine, wanting the return of John's lips. He was mollified almost immediately however when John stripped off his pants, giving Sherlock the opportunity to see John's decently sized cock. Sherlock didn't have time to think of his next move before he acted and he pushed John backwards onto his back, the younger man's mouth descending to John's still very toned stomach. He licked stripes and swirls onto the doctor's stomach, causing him to squirm and groan quietly. Encouraged Sherlock made the move to take things to the next level.

John had closed his eyes during the assault on his stomach, but his eyes flew open to land on Sherlock who had just tentatively licked John's prick. John was almost startled to see Sherlock looking almost scared.

"I don't know what to do John… I've never…" John smiled warmly down at Sherlock.

"It's okay. I'll guide you. Lick it again. Almost like you would an ice pop." John's eyes rolled back into his head as Sherlock did just that. Sherlock licked him from base to tip then swirled his tongue around John's tip. Sherlock did not need prompting after that, which was lucky because John didn't think he could have managed anyway. Sherlock took John into his mouth, sucking lightly at first, then with more fervor. Sherlock held onto John's hips as he moved up and down on his cock. Suddenly John felt Sherlock's left hand curl into a tight fist and before he could ask what was wrong, Sherlock plunged mouth down onto John's member, swallowing it whole and moaning around his girth. John almost lost it right then, but as it was began to chant Sherlock's name as if in prayer over and over.

John scrabbled at Sherlock's shoulder, enticing him to turn his body so that john had access to his woefully ignored cock. John picked up the lube from the bed and poured some into his hand before grabbing Sherlock and pumping him to the rhythm of Sherlock's mouth on him. Soon, Sherlock was moaning near constantly around him and John knew he was almost there. He sped his hand up on Sherlock's cock, tightening his grip.

"Sherlock you might want to… I'm going to… Sher.." Instead of retreating, Sherlock stayed on course, sucking John into his mouth with ardent fervor. John cried out as he spilled into Sherlock's mouth, and with John spurting into his mouth, Sherlock himself came all over his stomach and John's hand. They both rode out their climaxes, Sherlock eventually pulling his mouth off of John, as John let his hand fall away. Sherlock laid his head on the small amount of cushion John's stomach provided, breathing hard. John grabbed his pants and proceeded to clean his hand and Sherlock's stomach before moving both of them back up to the head of the bed.

When they were nestled against each other, breathing deeply, John saw that Sherlock was nearly asleep. "Why Sherlock? How did this happen? Not that I didn't want it to but what sparked this?" John was very confused when the only thing Sherlock could get out before he fell asleep was,

"Four A.M."

**Author's Note: Update:**

**So, I'm trolling through nsfwJohnlock on Tumblr and come across this. Idk the artist, or the ****commentators, but great minds think alike.**

** /ZT3N8v-gJSZG its a tumblr dot co  
**


End file.
